Dark Intent
by ApprenticeofDoyle
Summary: When Sam is kidnapped from their hotel room one morning, Dean, John, and Bobby go on a frantic search against time to save him from the grips of a twisted serial killer with much darker intentions than murder in his mind. Wee!Chesters, Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean and John and Bobby. Mature for language and physical/sexual abuse. Sam is 13, Dean is 17. AU; no Wincest.
1. Eye Catcher

**Let the creepiness begin! :D Warning: if you hate reading stories with child abuse, this is not a story for you.**

**Dark Intent**

**Chapter One**

"But Dean..."

Sam Winchester's voice was a petulant whine. He normally wouldn't have acted so whiny, especially in public, but his father was in the john and at this point Sam was so tired and cranky he didn't care that anyone else could hear.

"Aw, jeez, Sammy, want some cheese with that whine? Look, I know you're tired. Hell, I am too, even Dad's grouchier than usual-"

Sam's eyebrows raised over his weary hazel eyes until they brushed the strands of his shaggy brown hair, and the tell-tale signs of a bitchface coming on made Dean to roll his eyes.

_But he's right, _an annoyed voice in his brain retorted. _We're both getting real sick of this bullshit. _Despite his train of thought, Dean simply sighed and he turned away from his brother to eye the various snack foods adorning the long shelf in front of him. "Okay, maybe he's his usual manner of grouchy. But he's getting tired too, he likes sleep as much as the next guy."

The ancient fluorescent lights of the gas station seemed to flicker just as Sam's expression darkened in irritation. Dean tried to keep his own fatigue out of his actions as he scooped up two bags of chips- Doritos and BBQ Lays, their favorites- and a bag of sunflower seeds for his dad, and ignored Sam's heated protest as he walked over to the closest wall of the gas-station. It was lined with large, glass refrigerators full of drinks of all colors and sizes, and Dean could hear Sam's angry footsteps as the older Winchester scanned the assembly of bottles for some water. Finding the right drinks quickly, he put the snacks in one arm wrenched open the door with the other hand, pulling out some off brand bottles of water out and grasping them tight.

"But we've been driving for _days, _Dean! I haven't got a good night's sleep since last week! We don't have to stay for very long, just one night at some crummy motel! Why can't you just talk to him?" Sam asked again, nostrils flared. Dean turned tiredly back to look at Sam, and only managed to halt his own anger as he saw the dark circles under his little brother's eyes. Kid was barely getting any sleep, probably even less than Dean, and a small pit formed in his stomach at the thought of Sam having another sleepless night.

"Why can't you?" Dean huffed in reply, and Sam sighed deeply and helped his brother by grabbing the bottles of water from his hands. Nodding briskly in thanks, he almost missed his brother's low mutter.

"Because Dad actually listens to you." Sam walked away, turning his attention from his brother with lips pressed in a firm line.

Dean gnawed on the inside of his cheek, expression hardening as he attempted to keep the emotion of his face. Part of him wanted to tell Sam he was wrong, because John Winchester didn't listen to anybody, but another part of him wanted to tell Sammy that it'd be fine and he'd talk to Dad because that's what big brother's do.

He didn't do either, and tensed ever so briefly as the tall eldest Winchester ambled from the restrooms and approached Dean with dark eyes seemingly glacial. _Or maybe it's just me, _Dean thought.

"Got some food for the road?" John asked gruffly.

Dean nodded curtly, keeping his face blank. "Yes, sir. Water, too. And I got you some sunflower seeds." He holds up the small package in an almost white flag fashion, and John swallows roughly. His dark eyes move around the gas station until he spots his youngest with his scrawny arms full of water bottles. He takes note of the utter exhaustion on his son's features with a heavy heart. Watching Sam walk silently into another aisle, he looks back at his oldest. Scrutinizing Dean's face, he watched as his son straightened his shoulders under John's gaze. The dark circles under his son's eyes and slight paleness of his normally bronze skin tone caused something to break in John's resolve.

_My boys are exhausted. _

Dean watched in surprise as John's shoulders slumped and his hard expression relaxed. "Thanks, Ace. I'm dog tired. I know you boys are too. I...I don't think this lead is going anywhere." His face sagged with the admission, and Dean frowned in empathy. Any lead on _the _demon was a rarity, and when it turned up nothing it was no small blow. "It's been three days of driving and so far this little investigation hasn't turned up jackshit...It's about time we take a break, get a motel room."

The older Winchester sibling's jaw nearly dropped in surprise and relief. "W-What, really? You mean it, Dad?" _Awesome...Oh, sleep, my dear, sweet friend, I'm coming. _

John felt his heart lurch just slightly at the hope on his son's face. Does it really mean so much to them, getting a hotel room? Are they really that tired? The pure relief in Dean's eyes was confirmation enough for John, and an idea formed in his mind as he stared out the gas station window. The sun was setting, turning the sky a peachy orange, and the mountains in the distance were turning a rich purple._ Getting late. Think I saw a motel couple miles back. _

He turned back to his son, lazily scratching his salt and pepper gristle. "Yeah, Dean. And...I was thinking...maybe you'd wanna go visit your Uncle Bobby for a coupla days?"

Dean couldn't help himself this time; his mouth gaped open like a fish in shock. "You're kidding. Really?" _This isn't my father, John Winchester isn't this..._ nice. He felt guilty about the thought, but it was a true thought all the same. It was very unlike his father to suddenly drop a lead- a lead on the fucking _yellow-eyed demon _, for Christ's sakes- but treating them with a visit to Uncle Bobby's? It seemed too good to be true.

"Don't look so shocked, son," John grumbled, ruffled by Dean's response. "Don't tell your brother, alright? It can be a...surprise." The word almost sounded funny to John coming out of his mouth, and to Dean it was like his father had just said the word "unicorn" or "sparkles".

"Wow, Dad. That's...awesome." A small smile crossed across his face, lighting up his emerald eyes and briefly erasing the fatigue. Fatigue that should only haunt a middle-aged man in a blue collar job, or a med school student with midterm exams that week. Not a seventeen year old boy with such a warm disposition. Guilt formed in the pit of John's stomach, but he pushed it away with a grunt of assent.

"Yeah. Now get your brother and we'll check out. Then we'll check into a motel, and I can finish up the last bit of my business."

"Yes, sir!" Dean couldn't hide the excitement on his face as he sped off to retrieve his brother, and he hurried off with a joy that made it so obvious that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That and the way his son's face lit up like a Christmas tree was enough to tell John he'd made the right call. All of the sudden he felt like a dad again, and he walked up to the counter with a smile in his heart and an uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes.

xXXx

"Oh sweet Jesus," Dean gasped as his body collided with the soft, forgiving bedsheets. His air whooshed out his lungs and he closed his eyes as he felt his whole body practically melt into the cool, comforting sheets. "I'm in Heaven."

Sam threw himself on the opposite bed, relaxed expression mirroring his brothers. "Oh my God. I've never loved a motel bed _so much _in my entire life." He smiled in ecstasy as he buried his youthful face into a large white pillow.

"I'm with you, man," Dean said, not even bothering to snuggle under the sheets. He was going to fall asleep right there and not even the freakin' Apocalypse was going to wake him up until he got a good ten hours.

"I can't believe Dad let us stay the night." Sam said, the shock still lingering in his mind. His limbs like lead at his sides, he closed his hazel eyes and felt his breathing slow as his body started to succumb to the siren call of sleep. "Thanks, Dean."

"For what?" he grunts drowsily, half asleep already.

"For talking to Dad," Sam said simply, voice already deepening as sleep started to stake its claim in his mind, having already full grip of his body.

"I didn't talk to Dad. He suggested it." His voice was as shocked as Sam's resulting expression.

"No way." Opening his eyes, Sam's gaze darted around to make sure his dad wasn't in hearing distance. He wasn't- John was still outside, on the phone with some hunter buddy of his.

"That's what I said."

"Did you spray him with holy water?" Sam asked, lids losing strength with each passing second. He gave his vision a break, and his body thanked him graciously as he let his eyes close. "Cut him with silver?"

Dean chuckled lowly under his breath, waves of exhaustion coming over him like water breaking on a beach shore. "Funny, Sammy. He's as tired as us. I think he's just being nice, is all."

"Yeah, and my name is Julia Roberts." Sam's tired voice could not have been more sarcastic.

"How'd you guess? Me and Dad promised not to tell you until you were eighteen so you could get it changed."

Dean felt the soft pressure of a weakly thrown pillow crash into his face. He didn't waste what little energy he had chucking the pillow back at his brother, he just laughed again as he tucked the pillow beneath his own head.

"Shut up, jerk. Wasn't even funny."

"Whatever, bitch. I'm tired, don't judge me."

"M'not judg'n you," Sam muttered, slurring his words. Dean felt a sleepy smile spread across his face and the memory of a snoozing eight year old Sam burrowed into his side as they crashed one night years back came to the surface. But Sam was older now, a growing boy of thirteen. He didn't need to sleep with his face buried into his big brother's side, didn't need Dean's arms around him to keep the nightmares away. "Jus' tir'd."

"Me too. Night," Dean whispered, half to himself. He yawned loudly, his face stretching and neck arching, and a couple minutes later he heard Sammy do the same, his yawn ending in a few sleepy, throaty mumbles.

The second he heard Sam's sleep hums, the moment he heard his brother's breath steady, Dean let himself drift into warm, soft black.

xXXx

John couldn't stop the caring smile that spread across his face upon seeing his boys completely knocked out, limbs sprawled haphazardly across the motel beds with soft snores coming from their slightly agape mouths. The peace on their lovely faces was enough to give his old soul some good, and his whole body relaxed.

He didn't have the energy or the heart to move Sammy onto Dean's bed, not with the risk of waking either of his boys up. Nor did he want to be responsible for wiping the serene innocence from their young faces.

_I'll be fine on the couch, _he surmounts internally as he locked the motel door behind him. _They need the sleep...it's worth the back pain. _

Walking as stealthily as he could over to the dilapidated old couch, his tread hardly made a sound. He didn't bother with changing into more comfortable clothes- he was perfectly comfortable with sleeping in his jeans and shirt. He'd done it before, and he was so tired he doubted it'd be a problem. All of their stuff was in the locked Impala anyway, as they were only staying the night. Sliding his pistol surreptitiously out of his jeans, he placed it carefully inside the drawer of the stand next to the couch, and barely kept himself from collapsing onto the couch. Waiting to make sure the _flump _his body had made or following creak of the couch springs didn't wake his sons, he sighed and burrowed- as John Winchester did not _snuggle _- into the couch. Tucking an arm under his head, he gave the dark room one more once over. A hunter could never be too careful, and with his son's lives on the possible line he spared no chance. They even had a welcome mat they carried around with them with a devil's trap painted on the back. They placed it at the door of every hotel room they stayed at- and it currently sat at the doorstep. The motel had no windows, so any other form of entry was impossible. When it seemed all was on the up and up, John breathed a deep sigh before drifting into sleep.

Not even the demon bastard haunted his dreams tonight.

xXXx

The hotel manager's name was Rennie. Rennie Williams.

Or at least, that's what his name tag said. But in his time, he accumulated many names and aliases that suited his liking. A lot of name tags, too. He kept those tucked in a box at home, always ready for that 'just in case' moment.

He always liked to be prepared, Rennie. Learned that from the Scouts, and from his own personal experience.

Usually he chose simply names, ones that wouldn't stick in your mind like a piece of gum. Kept his clothes nondescript, hardly said a word to any passing man or woman to pass him by. Only "Hello" and "Thank you" or "Sorry", if necessary. Usually a nod and a smile was enough to get him through the day.

He was always quick to smile. That's was the only thing people really remembered about Rennie.

Oh, how he smiled. Frequently, with a grand stretch of his thin lips and slight raising of his too-small ears. His teeth were normal, white but not blinding, without a gap in between his incisors, a lack of caps or cavities. His teeth were normal, his mouth was normal. Less perceptive people thought his smile was normal too.

Ah, but Rennie Williams wasn't normal.

He hadn't even been a motel manager very long. He was an expert at lying low, but all things considered this had been a stretch for Rennie. A surprising amount of people passed through this dingy, piece-of-shit hotel because it was the only one in the area, and all of those travellers were people who could possibly identify him in the future. That was risky, and with each new customer it made him uneasy. None of them had caught his eye anyway. And what was the purpose, if they hadn't caught his eye? He had to move again, try looking somewhere else. In all honesty, he'd stayed a tad too long. He had planned to leave the next day, had all of his things packed. For some reason, he'd stayed on more night- and God, how happy he was that he did. He had finally found what he was looking for. To say his eye had been caught would be a major understatement.

He watched from his office, with its large windows giving him a perfect view, as his most recent occupant hung up his cell phone and walked into his room- Room 17, double beds, no TV. Richard Astin, he'd registered as. Rennie was almost convinced, what with the confidence the man bore and the ease of his signature as he checked in. But he recognized a fellow nameless man when he saw one. His payment in cash for a one night stay had only further confirmed his suspicions. Rennie wasn't afraid of him, but he didn't plan on nosing in on the guy's business. 'Richard' was big man with even bigger muscles, all black hair and eyes with power radiating off of him in waves. Rennie wasn't a thin reed, either, but he certainly wasn't stupid. Guy would probably chew him up and spit him out without hesitation if he had the cause.

_Which he soon might. _

Indeed, 'Richard' hadn't been alone when he checked him. Following behind him like soldiers to their general had been his sons, tall and lean with fatigue wearing down their small shoulders and weight in their eyes.

The first, the older one, was a handsome boy to say the least. Around sixteen or seventeen, with short blonde hair steadily turning brown. Big, bright green eyes the color of emeralds and slightly freckled but otherwise unblemished cheeks. His skin tone was a lovely tanned color, a natural sort of 'sun kissed'. He looked strong too, with muscles like his father and a mischievous, sloppy grin.

But he was nothing compared to the younger boy.

Rennie couldn't have denied the absolute _thrill _he'd gotten the second he laid eyes on that beautiful boy. He was, for lack of a better word..._stunning. _God, he was more than that, he was _breathtaking. _Gorgeous- with big, wide, sweet eyes such a rich and deep hazel framed by long, light lashes that had Rennie Williams melting on the inside with heart buzzing like a hummingbird in his chest. How he wanted those eyes to meet his own. Mussed, shaggy chestnut hair fell across his pretty face like a chocolate curtain. He remembered the feeling of his hands trembling, shaking from the need to run his fingers through that soft hair- it had to be like silk, like down. The boy's lips were the palest pink and gently curved, plump and lovely yet without femininity. His smooth, light skin was completely unmarked, like untouched snow- pure and entracing. His cheekbones were slight but expressive, just begging to be brushed by light fingers or lips. He barely came up to the tall desk, he was so tall. He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, height aside- his youth was so apparent, almost shining from him like a beacon.

He was _lovely. _

It had been almost impossible, trying to keep himself collected as the father signed in. He put on his best smile, the one he saved for real selling, and tried to keep his voice from stuttering, lips from trembling, eyes from flickering to that sweet eyed, angelic boy.

He didn't look Rennie's way once, only chatted idly with his brother. His voice was calm and soft, and just hearing it nearly sent Rennie into conniptions with full heat radiating through his body like a megawatt bulb. He shuffled his feet behind the desk as he took the man's money, and did his damnedest not to stare as the three walked out of his office and made their way to their rented room. He had walked almost spastically to the window, torn between desperation and shattering calm. Peering wildy through the blind, he'd watched the boy's departing frame with mouth parched and body trembling. The angel was slight but lean, with muscles just visible beneath his worn shirt and jeans, and he walked in a way that revealed notable intelligence for a boy so young. He had bristled and practically growled under his breath as the father placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, clenching his fists possessively.

_ Mine. That's _mine. _You cannot touch what is mine. _

His heart nearly stopped when the boy vanished from sight, immediately panging with loss and longing as the sweet little thing ducked into the motel room with his brother. His mind practically whizzed out of his head as plans- varying from storming in and taking what was his or waiting to kill the family while they slept- ricocheted around like bullets in his mind. _Gotta have him, gotta _have _him_...the voices picked up in head again, a wild and starving chorus of sound that all screamed at him to get what he wanted so mindlessly.

That beautiful angel, that perfection of boyhood had to be _his._

Calm. Calm yourself. You've done this before- you know what to do.

He nodded to himself as he placed the boy's face in the back of his mind and instead focused on the task at hand- getting the boy away from his family. Judging from the way the treasure gravitated around his family like planets to a sun, he knew it would be no easy task. Grasping at the fringes of solid ideas, his ice blue eyes floated over to his desk. There, in the bottommost drawer, his .45 lay dormant. He had chosen the model specifically, knowing how common it was. Hard to trace, easy to clean.

The breathtaking image of a motel room painted in blood of his competition and a sweet, sleeping dove in his arms had his fingers grasping for the cool sensation the pistol's grip against his palm. Soon those fingers would be ghosting over the pale, smooth cheeks of the godsend, the blessed boy in Room 17. The fantasy had Rennie sweating and hardening in apprehension, with beads of salt breaking out on his brow and pants becoming too tight.

He would make sure this wouldn't end like last time. Last time was the only time he lost, the only time his joy escaped him. But this one was special, shone above all the rest. This one was the most precious, most envied of them all and if it was the last thing Rennie Williams did, he would have that gorgeous boy all to himself.

xXXx

**Thanks for reading! I'd love some reviews for this, this is the first Wee!Chester fic I've written, and I've never written one of this nature before. Please tell me how I'm doing, and if I should continue! XD I'm sorry if I describe the little Winchesters differently, I imagine them looking more like their grownup selves in young, cute form, instead of like the child actors that played them in the show. It's how my brain works.**


	2. Nightmare

**OMG, it feels like forever since I updated, although it was only a week. :D I'm so pleased by the response I got, after all there's only one chapter and I have 15 followers already! XD That's awesome! Thanks so much, guys!**

**xXXx**

**Chapter Two**

_Nightmare_

When John awoke from his deep, ten hour snooze- the sleep that he would regret for many, many days afterwards- the first thing he noticed was the empty bed. Rumpled sheets, wrinkled pillows, but no little Winchester in its warmth.

_Sam_. John sprang to a sitting position immediately, eyes narrowing on the empty bed with restrained worry in his heart. With his life, to brush off a missing kid with lack of concern- what with the enemies he had and the evil that lurked just outside- was more than stupid and inconsiderate.

It was damnable.

"Sam! Dean!" he barked, hand moving instinctively towards the drawer that contained his trusty pistol. There was no instant verbal reply. However, there was a stutter in deep breathing and his eldest sat straight up in bed, green eyes popped wide.

"Dad!" he gasped, his startled emeralds darting to his father. Drowsiness, along with his color, drained completely from his face as worry crossed his youthful features. "W-What is it?"

"Where is your brother?" John thundered, voice chilling.

Dean's eyes flew to Sam's empty bed, mouth gaping. "I-I- I didn't even- I thought he was still here!" He thrusted his legs, kicking off his covers and immediately scrambling to his feet.

"Check the vending machines. I'll check the other rooms and offices," John ordered, channeling all the dads and angry drill sergeants on the planet with voice cold and damned-if-not fearsome. Dean didn't even respond verbally, just gave a sharp bob of the head as he was yanked his pocket knife from his boots and jammed his feet into them. He still wore the clothes he'd fallen asleep in, so he didn't have to throw clothes on before he threw the door open and dashed outside, with his father on his heels. They wasted no time.

_The door wasn't locked_, Dean's sharp mind remarked. The thought gave him small comfort. That meant Sam left by himself, right?

John darted left, moving quickly and intensely, but restraining the panic that he knew was foolish to release: firstly, there was no way of knowing Sam was in danger or not, and secondly, which was partly due to the first reason, if he was in trouble, panic wouldn't do shit for him or anyone else.

Ooh, if he was alright, John was going to _tear_ into that boy's rear end. He _knows_ the rules- _never_ leave the room without alerting him or Dean, _never_ disappear like that. Even before Sam had turned eleven and found out about the real, dangerous world, he knew to never disappear without telling someone. _Ever._

Meanwhile Dean sped right, his eyes scanning the entirety of the parking lot with a hurried acuity. It was empty save for the Impala and a couple guests' cars, and it was as quiet as a cemetery. It was only seven in the morning, after all, no one was out. _Sam could have just woken up and wanted to get a soda. We drank the water from from yesterday..._

Dean, with boots pounding hard into the asphalt ground, ran quickly to the roofed end of the row of rooms, where the ice machine and vending machines were. His heart dropped in his chest when he saw the area was also empty, without a sign of his younger brother.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean growled under his breath. "Where are you?" He was about to turn on his heel and check the surrounding rooms when something caught his gaze. A shiny flash of metal, red metal. Pausing, he walked over to the soda machine and stooped, bending down on the dirty and damp floor. There, just underneath the humming soda machine, was a soda can. A full soda can. The whirring from the machine's electronic light filled his ears as he extended a hand and wrapped his fingers around the can, gripping it tight and lifting it to his face.

A Cherry Coke. Still cold.

Sam's favorite.

Dean clenched his jaw, gripping the can so tight his knuckles turned white_. Could be a coincidence, could be a coincidence_, his brain repeated, panic leaching into his body like the chill from the soda can. It spread like creeping frost in his veins, tendrils of ice flushing through his body with horror lurking in the back of his mind- an observant, unreasonable spectator, ready to upend the stability of his calm and shatter it into a thousand pieces if his worry turned to pure fear, or worse, hysteria.

Getting back to his feet with expression like stone, he was about to leave when another piece of evidence caught his eye.

"Jesus," Dean croaked, his eyes widening in absolute terror. The horror seized its chance, scrambling to the surface to overwhelm him. For a brief moment, Dean Winchester locked down.

But then he willed his body to move, his hysteria becoming a fast, solid rock made of pure drive.

He snatched the small object and ran as fast as he could for his father, throat strangled with a muffled cry and his little brother's name repeating in his head in a mindless mantra.

_Thirty Minutes Earlier_

Sam gasped, sitting straight up in his bed like a rod as he struggled for breath. Looking wildly at his brother and his father, he almost choked in relief to see them safe and sleeping, not dead and burning. Not screaming or shouting or choking on their own blood. Wiping his clammy forehead with equally sweaty palms, he tried to steady his shallow breathing by sucking in deep, making his small body shudder.

_Just a dream,_ his brain whispered consolingly.

"Just a dream," he whispered, his voice all too loud in the silent hotel room. He restrained the urge to dive into his brother's bed and have Dean hold him until the residual terror faded away. He knew that was for babies. Sam was thirteen years old now, too old to need his brother because the 'reawy scawy nightmarys' kept him from sleeping. Dean worried too much about him anyway- the big jerk pretended nothing bothered him, but Sam wasn't stupid and he knew Dean too well to not know how moronically overprotective his brother could be.

Didn't make it any less embarrassing.

He sighed heavily, but stifled the sound behind his hand. No way in hell he could sleep now, but he had at least gotten_ some_ sleep. That was more than he could've said yesterday, or the day before, so he rolled out of bed as quietly as he could, eager to wake up. Having kicked off his shoes sometime in the night, he spared a passing glance at his sleeping older brother as he padded with socked feet to the bathroom.

A minute later, he emerged from the bathroom with the strong desire for caffeine. He doubted the motel would have a coffee machine, so he would have to go with a soda. Not exactly the ideal breakfast drink, but Sam thought the carbonation would soothe his nerves. Yawning, he crept back to the bed and slid his shoes back on. He would be out for five minutes tops, so he didn't need to wake up Dean, or God forbid his dad. They both needed their own sleep, and the last thing he wanted to do was deprive them of theirs just because a bad dream woke him up a little bit early.

He remembered the rule not to leave without telling someone, but it seemed trivial when he'd be gone less than five minutes, only around twenty feet feet away. Sometimes he hated how strict his father was, and wished they wouldn't baby him so much. Honestly, sometimes he was treated like a four year old. He felt guilty about the thought however, because in the last couple of years he'd learned there was a reason for his father's extreme precaution and why he was such a hardass. Monsters were out there. Real ones. And they killed people.

_But soda machines don't,_ a stupidly stubborn voice in his voice chimed.

_No they don't, _Sam agreed.

Casting a long, hesitant look at the room, he slowly unlocked the door and crept outside. The October morning was bright and cool, with the pale sun partially obscured by long, feathery cirrus clouds arching the skies like angel's wings. The sky was a light grey blue and far off in the distance darker clouds loomed, but Sam personally loved rain so for him it was a good sign. After closing the door gently behind him he yawned loudly, arching his back and stretching his arms until his spine popped. Sighing in relief, he padded off in the direction of the soda machines after extracting a wrinkled dollar bill from the inside of his jeans. _Hope they have Cherry Coke,_ he thought cheerily, but then smirked at his own bright disposition. Looked like the sleep he got would do him some actual good- and Dean would shut up about Sam's crankiness.

When he reached the soda machines his eyes lit up in victory upon seeing the lighted button proclaiming that it did indeed have his favorite flavor of soda.

"Sweet," he said aloud, his soft voice slightly rusty with sleep. He inserted his crumpled bill into the machine after smoothing it out repeatedly on his knee, and with a beep it accepted the money. He quickly jammed the cherry coke button, and the resulting whirring and boom as the can dropped behind the retrieval flap made him smile. He bent down quickly and extracted the ice cold coke, holding it up to his face._ Awesome._

He paused however, at the sound of slow footsteps to his left._ Oh, crap._ He remembered what his dad once taught him, or rather drilled into his brain after a hunt when he got snuck up on by an angry Kampa and in result got a good clawing on his back that didn't heal for a month.

_Listen carefully_, the John in his head ordered_. Tells ya about your attackers before you even turn around. Are the footsteps slow? Steady? Are they heavy, or are they light? That tells ya if they're big or small, helps you size 'em up. Is their breath quick or normal? Are they creeping up on you, or are they just walking- you don't wanna pull a gun on an average Joe, Samm_y.

The footsteps were heavy, suggested the man behind Sam was larger- a tall, big man, definitely, not a woman. No woman would breathe so huskily. The way the boot-clad feet approached Sam made him think he was purposefully trying to remain quiet.

_Why can't I ever have a normal morning? _was his first thought, and _Dad is going to murder me _was his second. The foolish exasperation in his mind was easily beaten by fear, and his heart hammered in his chest as blood rushed through his body. His father couldn't kill him if someone else got there first.

Sam's hand slid into his right pocket stealthily, and his fingers grasped his pocket knife. Deftly drawing it out, he flipped it open while pressing his hand to his leg, keeping the knife from view. He was still a distance away.

_Just a little closer._ His mind quickly formulated a plan, weighing all the possibilities he could and settling on a reasonable but confrontational course of action.

_Winchesters don't run away. I'm not an ignorant little kid anymore._

_I'm a Winchester._

Inhaling quickly, he dropped the can. It fell almost slowly to the ground, landing with a metal clank. It rolled smoothly across the concrete ground and under the machine. Cursing purposefully under his breath, he bent down to pick it up. The man behind him reacted, coming closer swiftly and quietly as Sam entered a supposedly vulnerable position.

He crept closer. Sam drew his motions out slowly, extending his knifeless hand forward to reach for the can...

The man got so close the Winchester could smell the scent of cheap cologne and cleaning supplies radiating off him. He felt hot breath on his neck, prickling the hairs at the top of his spine. The way the tall man loomed over him almost intimidated Sam into screaming at the top of his lungs...but he didn't. Once the man was close enough that he could hear the cloth of his shirt crinkle as he raised an arm to either strike or wield a weapon, Sam spun in a 360, whirling and pressing the knife directly to the stooped assailant's throat.

xXXx

When John approached the front office, he felt his stomach drop in his chest like he was riding a roller coaster, and the panic made a jarring resurgence in his mind. For a moment he stopped, staring with dark eyes wide. It wasn't so much the front office itself that was so disquieting, rather than the alarmingly recognizable type of car parked in front.

It was a black Suburban. Large, shiny, tinted windows. No identifiable markings, a DC license plate. New, clean, non-descript.

An _agency_ car. A nosy bigwig in a suit poking his head into some small town business that'd become noisy enough to draw an agent from the capitol. At first, annoyance outweighed the fear in John's mind, but it was quickly overcome by the realization that if they were looking for John or his boys, if they had somehow connected some of his messier jobs to him and tracked him down, the agent would've noticed the Impala and approached the hotel room with armed men instead of going to the head office with only one car. This was a small investigation, and even if John was modest he knew if they had connected him to any murders they would have sent in the cavalry. He was connected to a lot of unsolved deaths, and his military background would have only encouraged backup.

Which meant the suit came down to investigate someone else. Either question about a previous guest, search for a current one, or look into the proprietors...

A sudden memory of the hotel manager from yesterday flashed through his mind, the awkward, large man who smiled too much.

_Could he be a criminal?_ John thought suspiciously._ Could he be a killer_?

A possibly malevolent man in same vicinity as his boys...one of whom was_ missing._

John gnashed his teeth, striding quickly into the front office. The door was open, and he stepped inside quickly with the feeling of his pistol at his back blazing. His fingers twitched but he knew that pulling a gun a suit would be a bad idea.

Immediately, he took in the sight of man rummaging through cabinets behind the front desk almost urgently, expression grim. In the split second that the agent didn't notice the Winchester, John raked his eyes over him. The first thing he noticed was the man's garb. His clothing surprised the hunter- instead of a suit, the agent wore business casual: a collared grey shirt, dark dress pants, with no sign of a tie or dark sunglasses that was so typical of a federal investigator.

The man looked up sharply to see the man approaching, straightening and tensing as he absorbed the Winchester's angry body language and dark expression. His tawny eyes scanned John's body with the precision of a man used to sizing people up and deducing them, and the Winchester only repaid the favor. He was on the short side, a golden brown brunette with light brown eyes that were keen and intelligent, and his lips were pressed in a firm line. At first the man's hand had passed reflexively to his back, where his service weapon inevitably slept between his shirt and waistband. But halfway there, the man paused and met John's eyes.

"What are you doing here?" the two men asked in unison. The agent looked mildly surprised but John's expression remained strong and cold. Regaining his composure, the agent came out from behind the desk and stood, straightening his shoulders. His eyes narrowed.

"I'm Age-" he began tautly after a moment, but John vehemently cut him off. Now was not the time for bullshit.

"I don't care. I need to know who you're looking for- save me the bullcrap I know you're looking for someone, you're an agent, I can tell from your car- and I need to know why right now."

"Why?" The agent was just as blunt, and if he was stunned by John's vehemency he didn't show it.

John's nostrils flared and felt anxiety gnaw in his stomach. He didn't have time for this. "If the suspect you're searching for is dangerous, I deserve to know. I have kids here-" The Winchester cut himself off while a voice screamed in his head. _This is a fucking waste of time, move your ass, find Sammy!_

The agent's eyes became slits, sensing the apprehension that came off the hunter in waves. "Why would you think your children are in danger?" he asked suspiciously. Suddenly, his eyes widened in a realization. John felt his stomach tighten as he watched the man's fists clench briefly. "Has something happened here?" His eyes passed over John with a worrisome drop of concern, and he seemed to confirm his own suspicions. "Tell me. _Now."_

The sound of rapid footsteps behind them drew their heated attention to the door, and John saw Dean burst into the office with an gut-wrenching expression on his face that nearly shoved him over the edge.

"DAD!" Dean cried frantically, eyes wider than quarters and a horrified urgency twisting his features. Oddly, he held a soda can in his hand, but it was his other fist, the one clenched so tightly the knuckles of his hand turned white that caught John's attention. "Dad, Dad, I-" His son gasped for breath, terror shining so plainly in his eyes that John felt weak.

"Dean?" he questioned, heart pounding fast and hard inside his chest as he struggled to keep his voice firm. He came quickly over to his panting son and gripped Dean's shoulder to steady the pale youth. "What-" His voice cut off again as he came closer to his oldest, his throat clamping up in horror as Dean slowly opened his fist.

What his son held in his hand was Sam's pocket knife.

"Sammy," he breathed. _Oh, God, no._

"Oh, God." John's attention lurched from the object in Dean's hand to the agent, who stood frozen in place with a horrified expression. His face drained of color to leave his pallor as white as a sheet. "I'm too late."

**xXXx**

**Yay, cliffy! Sorry, I'm a sucker for suspense. Thanks so much for reading, I'd love it if this was reviewed! I'm really curious to see what people think of this. I know it's a bit short too, but that was the point. **

**BTW, who do you think the agent is? It's AU, so feel free to guess anyone! :D**


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